The Reichenbach Rising
by 34thArcheopteryxAngel
Summary: Sherlock thought this was going to be the worst case he had taken in a long time, until he finds himself facing a mirror to an alternate dimension. He must gain the trust of the world's best hunters, in order to rescue John and find his way back to 221b. Possible destiel in future, not a ship fic otherwise. Rated for language and minor character death.
1. Missing nouns like cases and milk

**Hi people! No idea what to say here so I'm just gonna start the story... (This is not a johnlock fic if you were wondering)**

Chapter I- MISSING NOUNS LIKE CASES AND MILK

Sherlock sat in his chair with a scowl on his face that darkened his eyes. His thin fingers were clenched together snugly, resting lightly against his knees. With a sudden force that startled the curtains from their calm state and made his curls do a little leap on his head, he stood and unclenched his fists. He spun in a partial circle, sending another breeze around the small area around him, and grabbed his violin. He pulled it up to a comfortable and familiar position and held the bow hesitantly above the strings. He glanced out the window as a cab pulled up with a short, blonde haired man pulling the door open. John. He thought. He let out a low sigh and put down the violin with a delicate force that seemed to still the air, as the curtains happened to settle just then. He picked up today's boring, case-less newspaper from the messy stack and gave it a quick snap. Perhaps John had a new case. The boredom was absolutely killing him and if it continued to increase at it's current rate, he'd be shooting the wall again by noon, if he hadn't already done that and he didn't find repetition annoying and normal. He buried his nose in an article about missing persons that may turn out to be a murder, but it was boring and pointless until the body was found in some hellish state that stumped Lestrade and his force of idiots. They do their jobs, even if you do it better, they still try and you've got no right to put them down for not being geniuses. A voice that sounded strangely like John's echoed in the back halls of his mind palace.

"Shut up." He muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry, did you say something?" asked a figure in a jumper from the doorway.

"Nothing, but I might as well complain about the lack of cases in today's paper, now that you're here to listen" He spoke, raising an eyebrow and his gaze to the man who tolerated the bag of various body parts he was holding in his left hand as he made room for the milk that sat on the counter, by pushing things around in the fridge.

"Oh please! You complain whether I listen or not" John scoffed in a teasing tone that echoed slightly against the roof of his mouth.

"Do I now?" He sniffed, sticking his collarbone forward indignantly.

"Tea?" was the only response other than an eye roll and an inquiring glance over his shoulder.

Sherlock nodded and continued to search the paper with fierce eyes, as if threatening it to not provide for him. The comfortable silence lasted several minutes as the groceries were unloaded. John settled down into the chair opposite Sherlock and pulled his laptop open and across his lap. As the keys starting tapping, Sherlock looked up and let out a small sigh that went unnoticed by the doctor. He stood up again and tossed the newspaper back to the pile.

"If you are desperate, those missing people are confusing the police" John offered.

"Desperate isn't the word I would use to describe it" Sherlock stated with a hint of defiance. He tugged on the collar of his coat so all the wrinkles mysteriously vanished from his outfit. "You coming?" He asked with an eyebrow raise and a flick of his scarf around his neck. John grinned and stood. The tall man was out calling a cab with his quick stride while John was still shutting the door behind him.

~€.€~

The DI was obviously tired when the consulting detective and his companion strode into his office with an air of arrogance and superiority that mainly radiated from the taller one with the coat.

"Sherlock." He said with a half hearted nod. "Well, make yourself right at home" he sighed sarcastically.

"What do you have on the new missing persons?" Sherlock ignored the comment.

"What do you need? We got pretty much all their data" Lestrade said, handing him a folder from the desk.

"Good. Last known location?" He muttered, paging through it quickly.

"It seems obvious by the facts, but don't be fooled." Lestrade warned. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Lestrade pointed to a spot on the map that was temporarily taped to the wall.

"All of them?"

"The thing is not where they have gone, but that would be interesting too." The DI sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"They are missing persons, correct?" John asked in surprise.

"It is a matter of how." He responded with great stress.

"How?" Sherlock muttered, still reading the files.

"All three were with their fiancés and they all say the same thing..."

"Vanished out of thin air" Sherlock quoted from the file, looking up.

"Thin air? Vanished?" John looked stunned.

"Oh, wipe that look from your face, they were obviously wiped of memory! Nobody could just disappear." Sherlock scoffed. "On the other hand, we have a case!" He grinned with a crinkle by eyes.

~€.€~

"You have got to be kidding me." There was no amusement in John's voice as Sherlock revealed his plans like an evil genius reveals his plans, which in a way he was. You know what? Just ignore that last part, all that matters is that he was snickering at John's expression.

"Why on Earth would I do that?" He said with fake innocence.

"You are honestly gonna barge in with no plan? You?"

"No plan? John, I thought you would listen better. I said improvise. I will barge in and improvise."

"My god, Sherlock that is the same thing"

"Hardly, besides, we will appear to act natural" Sherlock stated with a swift hand through his hair, declaring it final. Mrs. Hudson walked in just then.

"Act natural while doing what Dear? You two are making a ruckus" She asked, only mildly concerned by the high-functioning sociopath's still present, lopsided grin.

"Oh, I have to take John on a fake date to a restaurant where several people have gone missing" Sherlock said, rubbing his hands together. John spit out his tea.

"Oh good! It sounds like you will be having a bit of fun. Oh, and Sherlock, don't get yourself killed", she replied cheerfully, leaving the flat once more.

"I wouldn't dream of it" he smiled warmly.

"What?" John spoke in a voice that was quiet but bounced around the room with the shocked energy and ferociousness of a small kitten who discovered the catnip. He was still wiping tea from his pants where the ejected droplets had landed after their unfortunate flight.

"Relax John, it's just a case" the detective sighed and turned towards the door, as if to leave.

"Where are you going?" John managed to recover from the surprise enough to shoot the words at the man's curls on the back of his head.

"We need milk." Sherlock threw over his shoulder as he left.

"But I bought some this morning!" John muttered in confusion that was lost to the not-currently-present wind. He stood to check the fridge, but indeed the milk had mysteriously vanished.


	2. In which stuff happens

Chapter II- IN WHICH STUFF HAPPENS BUT NOBODY KNOWS WHAT

When the two men entered the restaurant with their stormy atmosphere mixture of embarrassment, arrogance, curiosity and intelligence, all condensed and put under a perfect curtain woven of fabrics of normality and common emotions found at an upper class restaurant, they had no problem getting to the seating which Mycroft had set up for them. He had been amused that his little brother with his rebellious attitude was working within the "strict" rules of the police force, to solve a case that hadn't even been proven bloody. Sherlock had been practically growling after his remarks about his growing boredom and desperation for entertainment, that to the passerby, seemed like a simple concerned high-class stranger striking up a chat with an old friend, but to the Holmes Brothers, was nothing less than a brass-knuckled punch to the younger one's high functioning-ego. John had the terrible misfortune of witnessing the gruesome aftermath battle of wit and words that would leave the poor doctor's head spinning for days.

"What exactly are we looking for?" John hissed at Sherlock from around a menu, as they settled down at the table in the back.

"Suspicious activity and mysterious persons" the man sniffed, not really paying attention but more of focusing on a specific item the menu offered, which we will never know because at that moment, he glanced over his shoulder and snapped the menu shut.

"what can I get for you?" The waiter spoke with a bit of southern accent, (not the American kind, for all you who assumed that, remember they are in London) that made Sherlock look up at his clean-shaven face before answering.

"I'll take a water" He said swiftly, still deducing the location of this particular specimen in his life's place of origin. John have him a look that said something along the lines of stop being so rude, but it went unnoticed, so he just blinked exasperatedly and ordered his meal.

"We have a viewer." Sherlock coughed into his fist, sparing a look at John, and breaking his pondering posture of unconsciously leaning slightly back to look down at his fellow conversation holder, and appear superior. This posture of raised eyebrows, folded hands and legs, and intensely focused eyes, did nothing to disturb the other man's confidence however. He had become immune to such things after living with the strange man for what seemed like an eternity. The veteran shifted uncomfortably in his seat when he heard this, however.

~€.€~

"Thank you." John nodded to the waiter when the food arrived. Sherlock simply sipped his water in a dignified way.

"Follow me" he muttered between his teeth, so as to not show emotion or reveal any tells to the follower. He shrank out of his seat and headed towards the bathrooms. John purposely looked bored for a minute, then followed the pale man. When he arrived in the dimly lit hallway with the two doors with the little figures on them to signify which bathroom was which.

Sherlock stood at the end of the long, nicely decorated hall, staring at a mirror. It truly was a piece of art straight from a museum or even from an ancient culture's place of religion. It was framed in a swirling silver design of bands that swarmed like waves and curled like fire. It was a broiling mass of what might appear to be dragons, but the next moment was plumes of smoke. It shimmered temptingly in the pale, gold lighting, with all the allure of a diamond in a display case, but it was more magnificent. It was frozen and perfectly still, yet it appeared to hold a thousand moving images at once. Scratch that, there were millions.

"My god." John muttered in complete amazement that shown on his face.

"Seems so indeed" the consulting detective replied in a barely-there voice that had a little echo. "I don't recognize it from anywhere" he said, searching his mind palace for a hint or a clue.

"it's amazing" John whispered.

"What were even here for?" Sherlock suddenly said shaking his head in confusion. He never forgot something without deleting it. He turned his head towards John and saw his dark eyes glazed over. "What are you doing?" He asked in a small, weak voice that seemed to feebly wobble through the air, not reaching John's ears. The doctor reached out a hand towards the shimmering glass. "Stop!" Sherlock tried but he felt so insignificant and small in the now wide open hall of towering, dark wallpapered walls and the chandelier light swinging slowly above his head. All of his instincts were blaring red alerts and screaming at him from the corners of his mind palace, but he couldn't quite access it. Like the grand doors were locked.

"Interesting." A quiet voice laughed behind him, but the sociopath's head was spinning and he couldn't turn. Male, uhhh... Secondhand smoker...distance behind me? I have no idea. He stared only at the slow motion hand of the closest thing he had ever had to a friend, as his mind went blurry and slow.

"John, please stop!" His voice came out clearly this time, but the veteran couldn't hear him from the other side of the veil of almost hypnosis that covered him. In desperation he grabbed the man's arm, just as his finger touched the glass. John's face turned towards him at the last second with confusion so thick it practically flowed through his veins.

"Sherlock?" He muttered like it hurt to talk, "what's happening?"

"I don't know, John." He spoke and it hit him like a semi truck. He didn't know. But he had no time to ponder this terrifying thought of reality, because he was hit with a sudden wave of darkness and nausea that buried him in grains of tiredness and drowned him in sleep.


	3. Two bars and a hunter

**This fic is pre-fall for Sherlock and in a similar AU where Cas is human, Charlie is their adopted sister (Bobby's daughter) and the Winchesters are just well known hunters, not apocalypse-ending super-hunters. I OWN IDEAS, NOT CHARACTERS OR PLACES.**

Chapter III- THE TWO BARS A HUNTER KNOWS

Dean Winchester sat on the creaky motel bed. Several knives, guns and assorted weapons lay polished behind him, strewn with a particular order that only the one who placed them could understand. He was cleaning an iron rod with a smudged cloth when his brother entered the room.

"That ghost put up hell of a fight" Sam laughed half heartedly, dropping a pie on the small table.

"Ectoplasm and everything" He responded with a wince as he wiped some of it from the bar he was cleaning.

"Cas just finished a job and wanted to join us for a while" the tall man spoke through the wall as he washed his hands in the bathroom and ran it quickly through his long hair.

"Fine by me. When's he gonna be here?"

"Early enough to catch a burger before we hit the road tomorrow"

"He got a job?"

"Hoping to catch one, and Dean, you should really keep your phone on"

"What?" The green eyed man sputtered, turning to face his brother who stood in the doorway to the bathroom.

"Cas called you first and you didn't answer" Sam said with a raised eyebrow.

"Is this another thing about me 'getting along' and 'trusting'? Because I trust Cas with my life just as I do with you." The older brother spoke with an indignant tone.

"He answers when you call" Sam noted but didn't have a challenge in his voice because he was too tired for this discussion. He crashed backwards on the checkered comforter of the rundown bed that was like floating on a cloud to the weary Winchester's cramped back.

"Be back soon" Dean sighed, grabbing his keys and heading towards the door. Glancing once back at the bed of weapons, he hooked the 'do not disturb' sign on to the door. He was thinking about heading to the bar he saw a few blocks away, but something made him hesitate at his baby's shiny, black door. He pocketed the keys and looked up at the dark sky. The stars were flickering above, but they seemed fake. Dean felt something pinch inside him. He tore his broken gaze from the sky. He glanced across the road at some teenagers kissing on a roof. _Cliche_. He thought. Dean felt his fingers clench together like he was holding on to the rope of his sanity. He rubbed his eyes and turned towards the sidewalk. He took a deep breath and took a step. Another. His foot hit the pavement as if testing it to hold not only his weight, but the weight he carried as well. Then another. More and more. Faster. Surer. The world went by in an angry blur.

He stopped suddenly at a park. It was dark and the children's equipment glowered at him in a menacing stance. He collapsed on a park bench that had grass growing taller around it. He buried his face in his hands.

"Why does it have to be my job to save people?" He hissed even though he knew the answer. "What if I wanted a normal life? Oh, wait nobody cares" he spoke in a broken voice. "I'm the puppet" the words were spat this time at the ground. "The plaything of demons" he growled in quiet anger. "Born to be a good little soldier. Did what his daddy said and still hurt so many people" he spat out the poison laced words with hatred. "Can't fix the broken boy, better keep him busy so he doesn't notice" he cried, but he ran out of tears long ago so his voice was scratchy and his face dry. "Let the boy be lonely. He saves more lives that way. Just kidding, he always breaks them" he was practically chanting recited lyrics in a somewhat hushed voice. "The angels are watching me! They must get a damn good laugh! Are you watching? Can you see your broken son? Do you laugh too? Or do you pity the man who cries to his mama when the world don't work out" he spewed his anger in a now collected state. His eyes glinted in the hard light. His fury burned for a moment before folding it's delicate wings like origami and snaking back into his heart, to lash through his veins at another monster.

Dean stood. _I should have gone to a bar._ He thought. _You shouldn't drink so much_. A worried, gravelly voice responded in his head. He brushed off his jeans and was going to head back to the motel when he heard a twig snap behind him. He immediately froze. He spun around to see a man fall out of a tree.

"The hell are you doing?" He hissed, but the figure didn't respond. It lay face down in the dirt with it's long arms splayed out. He pulled out his gun and carefully took a step towards him. He prodded the limp torso of the man with his foot. When no response was seen, he bent over and checked for a pulse. It was barely there. Pulsing lightly like tiptoeing steps, behind the strange man's cold skin. He checked for fangs and claws, but all he found was cold. There were no wounds anywhere he could see, so why was he knocked unconscious and on the verge of death at Dean's feet._ I can't save him. I always end up losing them right after we become friends._ He thought with fear washing over his body. But you try, don't you. With that, the battle worn hunter with steel eyes, scooped up the unconscious black coated man like a princess and walked all the way back to the motel. He ignored the side glances and focused only on the slowing beat of the stranger's heart.

~€.€~

"Dean. Do you care to tell me why there is a strange man in your bed, and you are lying on the bathroom floor?" Sam asked with a hint of amusement and a raised eyebrow.

"Wha-" was the grumbled reply, along with a fairly loud string of curses as he sat up to hit his head on the base of the sink.

"There's a dude in your bed." Sam stated again, glaring at his brother with entertainment rolling across his face.

"Dyeing, fell out of a tree. The hell did I put my toothbrush?" The elder Winchester mumbled, reaching like a blind man for his toothbrush on the ground beside him.

"Get up, then explain you jerk" Sam laughed, lightly kicking his brother in the side.

"Bitch" Dean winced with a violent cough and a more successful rise. Sam offered his hand and Dean stood up promptly without it. He dusted off his crumpled jeans and wiped the toothpaste from his cheek and lips.

"So, you gonna explain the zombie in your bed? Or am I gonna stand here all day" Sam grinned from the bathroom doorway.

"I was walking back last night, when I heard this sound behind me. I turned, expecting some monster to jump me, but no! It was a dead guy, I thought. He was still breathing actually so I picked him up and dragged my ass back here. Happy now?" Dean sighed, spinning to face his brother with his hands raised to his sides. He shook the water out of them, and pushed past him.

"I mean why you brought him here" Sam called across the room, still leaning on the doorframe, just turned around.

"I don't know, okay!" Dean growled, pulling some alcohol from the cupboard. "I just don't know!" He sighed with quiet anger, slamming the bottle back into the cupboard and slumping into the chair. He buried his face in the pile of papers and pretended to go to sleep. Sam sighed and grabbed his coat, heading out the door. Dean took a sharp intake of breath and let himself cry tearless and silently. _What's wrong with you? Emotional? What? You can't be emotional. Disgrace._ Floated in hissing whispers of voices through his head.

**I cut this one a little short, I'm hoping it will help me get more chapters out faster if I shorten them a bit. It's the same length as the rest, just cut off. Thank you for reading and I would love it if you reviewed! everything is just so stressful recently and I haven't had a chance to update, sorry for keeping you waiting!**


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